by Cara Dee
I whipped around and saw Finnegan in the doorway, and I smiled and blushed at his predatory once-over.
“There’s nothing conservative about you.” He walked closer slowly, adjusting his cuff links. “In fact, you’re one indecent little liberal.”
I laughed at his punniness. “I think the preferred term is filthy.”
“You’re that too.” He lifted my chin and kissed me softly. “You look perfect. We look perfect.” He positioned us so we were side by side in front of the mirror. “Check us out. Philly’s next power couple.”
Christ, he didn’t set the bar high at all, did he? While he slipped a hand down to feel up my butt, I adjusted his tie.
“Are you turning into an ass man?”
“No. You’re turning me into an ass man. I swear it calls to me.”
I’d noticed. We’d made out like starved lunatics last night, and there was always a hand on my ass. Not that I was complaining. I was pretty damn fond of his ass too. I even bit it, which he’d taken as consent to bite me back.
Speaking of ass talk, it was time to go to church.
The church Finnegan’s family attended was on the outskirts of the city center, and from the minute we parked, it was easy to see the Irish-American community was strong here. The square across the street was lined with Irish pubs and storefronts with Celtic designs.
The sun was shining, and he put on a pair of shades as we walked hand in hand toward the big church.
I supposed I should put my gift cards to use soon. As good as Karla was at picking out clothes for me, I wanted to do that myself. Starting with sunglasses and heels that didn’t crush my feet.
Finnegan shook hands with more people than I could count, and he introduced me as his fiancée to each one.
“My parents are over there,” he murmured in my ear, nodding toward the entrance. “You ready to face my mother?”
Little did he know. “I’m ready.”
I wasn’t nervous one bit to see Grace—again—but Shannon, on the other hand? Yikes. He looked so distinguished. Finnegan took after him a lot. Down to the dark copper hair, solid frames, trimmed beards, and suits. Only a few differences stuck out. Where Finnegan wore cocky smirks, Shannon had a tangible air of kindness to him. Silver glinted at his temples; it would be a decade or two before that happened to Finnegan. Same with the laugh lines around Shannon’s eyes and mouth. I wasn’t gonna lie, Shannon O’Shea was almost as lethally handsome as his son.
“You look alike,” I whispered as we approached.
“So I’ve heard.” He flashed me one of his smirks, and then we reached his parents. The two men who’d been talking to Shannon quickly excused themselves.
Grace’s eyes lit up.
“Guys, I want you to meet Emilia Porter. I finally got her to say yes.”
“You say that as if you had to work a long time for it,” I accused. Plastering my most charming smile on my face, I faced Shannon and Grace.
“I did,” Finnegan insisted with a chuckle. “Emilia, Shannon and Grace O’Shea.”
“It’s certainly felt like forever waiting to meet you, dearie.” Grace embraced me in a fierce hug. “Oh, poo. I hoped you’d have a purse,” she whispered. “I have a phone for you later. Assume my boy’s keeping track of your messages and calls.”
Fucking seriously?
I was passed from one hug to another while I snapped out my dumbfounded state. Shannon welcomed me to the family and said his son was lucky to have found me.
Welcome to the family, Em. Your fiancé might be tapping your phone, and you’re gonna have his children, “God willing.”
We’d see about that.
“Where’s your brother?” Grace asked Finnegan.
“On his way,” he replied. “He texted earlier and said he was hungover.”
Did that include Sarah? I hoped she was coming too.
“Why am I not surprised?” Grace shook her head. “You know what, he can find a seat in the back. We should head in.”
Finnegan and I followed Grace and Shannon, and as soon as we entered the church, the atmosphere was entirely different. That was when it hit me that I had no idea what I was doing, and I knew Catholics had a truckload of rituals.
I was surrounded by believers. I guesstimated three hundred of them would fill the pews, and most—if not all—became more somber like a flip of a switch. Many of them made the sign of the cross, one of whom I was marrying soon.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I whispered to Finnegan.
“That’s okay,” he whispered back. “Just follow my lead.” He nodded at the third row as we got closer to it. Shannon was there, taking his seat. “You can sit down with my pop. I reckon genuflection isn’t for you.”
I looked up at him and blinked. “Genuwhat?”
His eyes flashed with amusement. “Have a seat, princess.”
Fine.
I left one Irish mobster and sat down next to another. In the meantime, Finnegan and Grace walked up to the altar with several others.
“Are you Catholic, dear?” Shannon wondered.
I nodded, then promptly shook my head. I wasn’t anything, really. “I was baptized in a Catholic church,” I replied quietly. “My mom was Catholic. But…Dad’s a Lutheran, though he only worships Jim Beam. We never went to church.” I was pretty sure Dad had only had me baptized to honor Mom or something.
Shannon chuckled under his breath. “That’s a horrible bourbon.”
I grinned to myself and glanced over at the altar. Finnegan had taken a knee briefly and crossed himself once more, and now he was standing up again. Grace stayed on one knee, appearing to be in prayer. Finnegan returned to us, and I refrained from saying anything. There were evidently dozens of sides to Finnegan, and this was just another one I’d have to get to know. As much as I didn’t understand religion, I found myself wanting to understand him. Every side intrigued me.
He took a seat and linked our fingers together on his leg. With his free hand, he rustled with something, and I blinked in bewilderment when he revealed a bag of candy.
“Butterscotch?” he offered.
What the fuck—who the fuck was this guy? Oh, honestly. Big, bad, tough mobster who kneeled at altars and ate Werther’s Originals before Mass: the jokes wrote themselves.
“Is now really the time to eat old-people candy?” I whispered.
He frowned. “My mouth gets dry in churches.”
Shannon reached across me and took two candies. “Cheers, son.”
This family couldn’t be normal in any sense of the word.
While we waited for everyone to get settled, I people watched and noticed more than a few who were curious about us. Or me. Were they all friends or acquaintances of the O’Sheas? That couldn’t be. Otherwise, we might as well just pass out wedding invitations on flyers after a service, or whatever Catholics called it. Or maybe do a “while we’re all here, let’s get hitched” kind of wedding.
I tugged on Finnegan’s pinkie. “Is this where we’ll get married?”
He inclined his head. “I’m going to speak with Father O’Malley after the homily today. Have you heard of Pre-Cana classes?”
“Um, yeah. Premarital counseling or something.”
“They’re as horrible as Jim Beam,” Shannon muttered.
For chrissakes, I was going to warm up to him way too fast if he kept making wisecracks like that.
Finnegan squeezed my hand. “There’s no way we’re going through six months of that shite, but I might have to throw you under the bus a bit. You’re a lost little atheist, and he’s going to have concerns. If I’m not mistaken, you didn’t even have your First Communion. So if he requests sessions with you, I’ll agree.”
How supportive of my husband-to-be! Taken aback by what he’d said, I stared at him for a beat before turning to Shannon.
“Your son is as horrible as Jim Beam too,” I told him.
Shannon coughed a laugh, loud enough for him to earn a couple glares from p
eople around us. “Oh, Finn, she’ll fit right in.”
Chapter 19
A Month Later
Finnegan O’Shea
I grinned and brushed my thumb over Emilia’s text.
Invitations were sent today. Cake tasting when you get home, FINN. xx
Our recent name dispute was one she couldn’t win. I loved the way she said my name, so no, she wasn’t going to start calling me Finn like most people did.
“You’re whipped already, little brother.” Patrick folded his arms over his chest and stared out the window of my office. “Can you focus?”
“Can you?” I drawled. “You’re the one who’s late to sit-downs and party more than you work.” The last two weeks, he’d been short when handing over his cut to the higher-ups, so I’d had to cover for him.
It was great that he and Sarah and found one thing to bond over, but it couldn’t affect his work. Other than running in and out of clubs together, the only thing Sarah liked about my brother was his money, which he wouldn’t have much left of if this continued.
“I’m working when I go out,” he replied irritably. “You know that.”
I inclined my head and leaned back in my desk chair. Whereas I kept my business afloat down by the docks and had my office here, Patrick rarely visited his garages, and he met with associates at four in the morning when everyone was three sheets to the wind. And it’d worked until his fiancée came along and spent eight grand a month on clothes and jewelry.
It was as hard to like Sarah as it was to resent her. She was looking out for herself, and she was taking what Pat was offering. What he needed to do was set a damn limit tomorrow when we were signing the contracts with the girls. Then maybe, just maybe, make an effort to connect with Sarah.
“No one’s forcing you to get shit-faced,” I said. “But back to focus. There is one obvious solution to your problem. You gotta quit renting property. Buy the lot in Newark—”
“I can’t front the dough,” he stated.
I widened my arms, incredulous. “And what the fuck am I, shit under your shoe? You’ve never had any problems asking for a loan before.”
He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sick of borrowing money from you, Finn. For fuck’s sake, I’m starting to feel like a guest in my own home.”
That wasn’t my problem. I kept telling him to set limits and stop buying cheap affection—which wasn’t even affectionate—but he wouldn’t listen. He wasn’t willing to do the legwork to go anywhere. And guess what, that’s how you got stuck. For as long as he kept a draining credit card wedged between himself and Sarah, everyone would suffer.
The only issue with working toward a good relationship was that you risked falling in love with it.
I’d fucked myself over good and proper somewhere between waking up next to Emilia every morning and watching her pick out the flowers for our wedding.
I wasn’t ready to admit I was in love with her yet…though, what we shared? What we were creating together…? I needed it more than air. The few times I came home and she wasn’t there, I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.
“I need a business with a bigger profit,” Pat said. “How much do you make here?” He nodded toward the door. “Can you launder enough?”
I lifted a shoulder, unwilling to discuss the details. I’d hired five new guys recently, and we were installing home security systems left and right all over Pennsylvania and Jersey. To be honest, I didn’t launder much, ’cause I had something better. I had the blueprints and the keys to the wealthy along the entire Main Line. There were no failing security systems. They simply didn’t know there were sometimes people who came and went with valuables from time to time. Especially when someone had just moved or was in the process of it.
Things went missing.
“Come on, Finn.” Patrick walked over, frustration and helplessness boiling over, and sat down in the chair across from me. “We can’t all have perfect lives, mate. I’m trying here.”
I chuckled, getting pissed. These motherfuckers loved to call me uptight and make digs about my life, yet they came crawling for help sooner or later.
“Remember our first LA Auto Show?” I asked.
He was confused by the change of topic but nodded once. “Good times.”
“Good times? It was way more than that, bro. Christ.” I reached for my smokes and lit one up. “You were innovating back then. We had one order, one window of opportunity according to the old-timers, and how many cars did we score that week?”
Our grandfather had been boss back then, and he’d told us to attend the only private event they deemed safe enough to steal at. Then Patrick had put his genius to use and found a paper trail of transactions, exhibits, and storages.
After calling in six more guys from the East Coast, we’d literally created our own crew during one of the best gigs of my life.
He’d earned the respect of Ronan that weekend.
“Nine,” Patrick answered and hung his head. “I hear you.”
It made my fingers itch to think about it. Next auto season couldn’t come fast enough.
“Has Uncle John given you any orders for this fall?” he asked.
I nodded. These days, Patrick and I ran separate crews, and we only worked together for bigger affairs. Like LA, Miami, anything in Italy, Detroit, and a few others. If it weren’t for our weddings taking place soon, we would’ve teamed up with Pop’s crew and hit Monterey this summer. Just being there for the auctions was like sex. Or almost, as I was discovering.
“Not to me directly, though,” I amended. “His pompous ass wouldn’t call a crew boss on our level.”
“I’m sick of that fucker,” he grunted.
I inhaled from my smoke and didn’t answer. If he were so fucking sick of our uncle, he would’ve worked harder toward the goal. Our pop had the same issue. He hated Uncle John these days, yet he allowed the motherless prick to rule.
Ma was…torn. Plenty of hatred, but this was her older brother. Who’d murdered their father…and her husband’s father. And the reason she couldn’t pick a side was because we didn’t have “evidence” that Uncle John had done it.
I called bullshit, and I didn’t look forward to seeing him at the wedding. We’d act like family who loved each other then.
“If you get your act together,” I told Patrick, “I’ll see about uniting our crews.” I needed a couple new guys anyway. Business was good, and I’d just lost Kellan temporarily because he couldn’t show his face here with Emilia around. Now he was working personal security for Alec and Nessa in Chicago. A job Kellan loathed, though it gave me a quicker heads-up when something was going down.
“We did make a lot of money together,” Patrick pointed out.
“For a few months outta the year. You know that’s not enough.” Auto shows were generally held in the fall and winter. “Now, should I get you that loan or not?”
He sighed heavily and waved a hand. “Hit me with it.”
“That’s the spirit.” With that out of the way, I could move on to my problem. “About tomorrow. Did Sarah go with any of the lawyers you recommended?”
He furrowed his brow and shook his head. “No, she found one herself. Why?”
“That’s what I feared.” I put out my smoke in an old coffee mug. “Emilia picked her own representation too, and I wonder if someone’s helping them.”
I’d ransacked Emilia’s phone, and I hadn’t found squat. She texted with Sarah the most, which was understandable. They attended meetings with Father O’Malley, went shopping, and planned the weddings together. Emilia had also struck up a friendship with Alec. He’d texted her last week, claiming she’d had his number for too long without using it. They’d been texting silly things to each other ever since, something I found weirdly sweet. Other than that… A handful of texts from an old classmate named Franny, who’d urged Emilia to talk to the police. In response, Emilia had asked how she’d gotten her number, and it’d led to her blocking Fran
ny.
Approximately a million messages from my mother as well, though they were all wedding-related or her asking the next time they could meet up for lunch.
Our parents had officially moved out to the compound, or so they claimed. They were in the city often. Pop blamed it on patients and sit-downs. Ma’s excuses were the weddings and that she had to decorate their new “city flat.”
I pinched my lips together, frustrated I couldn’t figure it out. Had Emilia made friends I didn’t know about? We hadn’t introduced them to more family yet. Unless Ma had…
“Brenda,” I said as the name popped into my head. “You think she could’ve helped the girls?”
Brenda was our cousin and Aunt Viv’s eldest daughter. She was our age, the only one of Viv and Thomas’s kids who was local, and she wasn’t fond of Pat and me.
“I hope not.” Patrick made a face. “I wouldn’t worry too much, though. I check Sarah’s credit card activity, and she hasn’t paid any retainers.”
All the more reason to be concerned. Unless Emilia and Sarah showed up alone tomorrow, someone was footing the bill. Additionally, I hadn’t come this far by underestimating people, and both girls had their moments.
I hated being blindsided.
Is that Emilia?
Coming from the garage, I stepped out of the elevator to get the mail in the lobby, and I could’ve sworn I just heard her soft laugh. It was my favorite sound of hers. Possibly… The sound she made when she came was a strong competitor.
I followed the giggles and stopped short when the front desk came into view. Not only was it Emilia, but she was clad in a skimpy cotton top, pajama shorts, and another one of those disgusting face masks. The chick already had perfect skin; why she put that on her face was beyond me.
Today’s mask was stark blue and likely promised eternal youth.
“Oi. Giggle Smurf.” I passed the wall of mailboxes and aimed for Emilia.
She met my gaze with a grin and leaned against the desk where she’d apparently gotten chummy with whatshisface, Oliver something. As was becoming my new normal, my chest constricted before expanding at the sight of my girl.
